


The Sound of Color

by ryucreates



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Colors are pretty rad honestly, Dreams, Hurt No Comfort, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Other, here it is now, wrote this yesterday but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23776783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryucreates/pseuds/ryucreates
Summary: Life is seen through a bubble, floating high above the ground.You cannot stop it, cannot fix it,But maybe, just maybe, you can look around it.(This takes place after chapter 3 of H&R)
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	The Sound of Color

**Author's Note:**

> This fic does have a premise somewhat like someone else's fic, but have no fear, friends, for this was written like two hours after the h&r update was released. Any similarities are coincidental, so enjoy this tiny oneshot.

He has dreams late at night. He knows it’s not supposed to happen anymore but. It does. He closes his eyes and instead of a flat grey, perfect and flawless, he sees flashes of colors, beautiful starlit skies and oceans of greens and reds and pinks and purples, galaxies swirling off into the distance in whirls of yellow blue blacks - he can’t exactly tell when it all started but he knows that he never wants it to stop. What exactly, he doesn’t know, the meaning of the colors escapes him, flying out of his mind like songbirds from a cage. 

He doesn’t know when it all started, the colors - _they all came one day and they never left_ \- appeared and suddenly it was like he was coming home. Coming home to deep lilacs and golds and blended oranges stretched out in all the colors of beauty and love. He doesn’t know when it started and he doesn’t want it to stop, not yet.

He likes the feeling. 

It’s like freedom: freedom from stress, from unhappiness, from the horrible things he sees every day and all the things he used to dream of. 

All the things he can’t remember. It’s okay though. He doesn’t exactly want to remember. He can tell that it was bad.

Hot flashes of yellow orange  _ pain  _ exploding through the air, leaving thick musty trails of deep greens and reds blent to a viscous brown - _tan like burnt flesh, deep streaks of red like blood flowing through rivers and dripping down on dirty soil_ \- like all the hurt is contained within it.

Like all the hope in the universe has been drained away, leaving only a dusky husk to crumble in the midday sun.

The dreams he has now are free of that husk, like new insects emerging from their bodily cages, bright and lively colors spinning like galaxies through the air, spelling out love and life, winding and blending and forming words.

He can’t tell what they say, not yet.

They get clearer everyday.

He lays down and the colors explode across his vision, bright purples and reds and lovely greens shaped like life and love and fragile things that he’s scared to touch. They’ll break if he does, the colors. He’s tried to touch them before but it doesn’t work they’re too far away and when he does touch them they shatter like everything else except  _ her _ .

She’s there for him. 

She’s been there ever since he can remember, supporting him and telling him what to do when his brain feels like it’s falling apart and he can’t do anything. She’s the one constant in his life, the one thing that doesn’t fall apart like his mind and like everything else.

She cares, she stays, she’s there because she wants him to be better and he knows she’s family but why doesn’t she feel like-

No.

He can’t say that. It’s not allowed, it’s not supposed to be like that he’s not supposed to think like this, it’s wrong and he’s wrong and the colors are  _ all he has so he can’t touch them and he can’t talk to them and- _

He can’t tell anyone either. He’s not sure why but there’s a tight feeling in his chest. He can’t tell. It would be wrong, it’s wrong, he’s wrong and they’d do it _all over again_ -

What happened to him? What “it”? 

He doesn’t know. He never does, he doesn’t need to, it’s okay it’s okay  _ it’s okay Corin, you’re safe here with me _ -

Dark flashes of brown, red-grey-silver- _ home _ , and he’s whisked away. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t need to, he’s flawless and perfect and poised and he’s okay, he doesn’t need more.

He doesn’t need more.

He’s where he needs to be. He’s doing what he needs to, what he needs, what he needs needs  _ needs. _

It’s quiet in his mind.

The colors have stopped.

It’s sad, in a way. He kind of misses the colors, the flashes, the words that form and dissipate like mist in the wind. He shouldn’t like it, but he does. It’s.

It feels like home. It feels like warmth, it feels like he’s whole again.

Wasn’t he whole before?

Is he broken now?

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t need to know, and that’s okay. It’s okay, he’s fine, he’s always been fine so  _ why doesn’t this feel fine. Why is he falling apart, he was okay before, why is he broken now? _

He opens his eyes. 

It’s been hours.

He feels. . .fine. (The word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, he knows it isn’t supposed to but he can’t help himself, where are the colors? He wants the colors, he wants and it’s greedy and he knows but he wants wants  _ wants _ .)

He’s missing something.

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t need to know (What if he does?)

He doesn’t want to know ( _ lies. _ ).

He’s fine. 

_ He’s lying. _

He wants, even if he’s not supposed to. Even if everything in him is screaming that it’s wrong wrong  _ wrong _ , he still wants. 

And maybe, just for now, that can be okay.


End file.
